


The End of the Line

by ms_cris



Category: Gilmore Girls
Genre: F/M, Gen, Pre-Series
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-15
Updated: 2016-02-15
Packaged: 2018-05-20 21:06:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,101
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6024868
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ms_cris/pseuds/ms_cris
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Welcome to his life. Christopher's POV.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The End of the Line

**Author's Note:**

> Written in 2006. Edited 2016.

The girl sitting on the end of his bed is cute, blonde and a little drunk. She isn't sloppy or stumbling, but there's a definite glassy look in her eyes, her gestures are a little exaggerated, and she's not quite making sense as she rambles on about some course she's considering taking next semester. She is loose, fluid, the edges have been taken off.

The moment should be perfect. They are alone and will not be interrupted. He could lean in and kiss her. They would make out and she might let him go all the way.

Christopher nods as if he were listening to her, his mouth pulled taunt into the form of a smile, then gets up to go across the room to the mini-fridge. He needs another beer.

She watches him move away from her. She has stopped talking and he has not replied. Her eyes wander around his room searching for something to say to alleviate the moment of silence that has fallen between them. She notices the photograph by his nightstand.

"Oh, what an adorable baby!" she grabs the picture frame from the nightstand, pressing her fingertips to the glass. "Is she your little sister?"

Christopher sets down his beer and takes the photo from her. He peers down at the picture, as if he hasn't spent countless hours staring at it and is instead seeing it for the first time, and his mouth moves into a small grin. He sets it back onto the nightstand leaning over her in order to reach it.

There is a look in her eyes beyond that hazy drunkenness. This is the moment. The seconds build into an undefinable tension of possibility then crumble.

Christopher straightens up and turns towards the alarm clock on his desk.

"You know, I'm getting kind of tired," he hears himself saying to the cute blonde on his bed, "and I've got a paper I've got to start writing tomorrow. So, um..."

The blonde agrees that it's getting late, assuring him that she understands his need to get to bed.

As she walks out the door, she gives him a hug and tells him to call her.

He lightly pats her back in response to the hug. He tells her he'll call, but he knows he won't. He doesn't really like blondes.

***

This time he makes it through four digits before unceremoniously hanging up the phone.

He's sitting at his desk, the trappings of his college life -- the books, the notepads, pencils, folders -- are scattered around him. He isn't doing his work.

He's practicing his weekly ritual.

The phone and the photograph of him and Rory are sitting right before him.

He considers picking up the phone and attempting to dial again, but instead he picks up the photograph. He turns over the frame and removes the back revealing a second photo behind the first.

It is of him and Lorelai.

They're at the baby shower her friends threw for her before they, and their parents, decided that the idea of them being friends with a teen mother was a little too real for their blue-blooded, college-bound world.

She is large with his child. He has his hand on the mountain of flesh that her once flat stomach had become and they're both wearing the widest smiles on their faces. It is a sweet and terribly naive moment.

The phone rings.

Christopher's heart speeds up and for one wild instant he almost believes that he lives in some sort of fiction. It will be her. She will call confessing that she was foolish to send him away. They might be young, but she needs him. Come home, to her and Rory.

When he answers, it is his mother. He cannot hold back his sigh.

"Hi Mom."

"I'm glad I caught you Christopher," her voice is harsh, clipped, and icy. "I have been leaving messages on your answering machine and with that roommate of your's, but you still have not returned my calls."

The reproach is plain in her tone, but it isn't truly about his not returning her phone calls. She still hasn't forgiven him. The risk he took with his life, his oh-so-bright future was a little too close for her. Still, he can't complain because he hasn't yet forgiven himself either.

Christopher apologizes then asks, "What is it that you wanted to tell me?"

"I merely wanted to ask you, Christopher, if you were planning on coming home for the winter break because your father and I were thinking of going some place tropical this Christmas."

At first, he says nothing. He is not stupid. This line of questioning isn't really about his parent's holiday plans.

"I hadn't really thought about it, mother," this time it is his voice that has taken on a noticeable chill, "You can plan your trip though. I'll be fine."

A silence falls between them and stretches like a discordant note riding the air.

"All right, Christopher."

The words seem very final, but Christopher can't bring himself to care.

The disconnection is abrupt and the dial tone hangs in his ears.

His eyes trace the forms in the photograph. There are too many silences in his life now.

***

The town is dark and deserted.

It's mid-November and the wind howls down the empty streets. Christopher rubs his hands together, but hardly takes notice of the chill in the air. He's been out wandering the streets of Princeton for hours and has gotten use to it.

He is pacing in front of a pay phone.

The same old arguments are circling his mind. They'd driven him out here. It is these arguments that have always repelled him away from the outright lies and half-truths that involve his pretending to be a normal college student.

He shouldn't be here. It's wrong. He knew it was wrong all along, but he'd disappointed his parents so badly and Lorelai had told him to go too. So, he'd left. He left to fulfill their dreams for him. It's going to end tonight. Christopher has had enough.

Without letting himself have that moment of doubt, he sticks the dime in the coin slot and dials Lorelai's number.

The ringing seems to last for an eternity.

"Hello," Lorelai answers, sleep thick in her voice.

"Lorelai. It's Christopher." His voice is strong, business-like. He is here for a fight.

"Christopher," Lorelai inhales deeply then sighs, "It's past ten. Rory's asleep."

"I didn't call to talk to Rory. I want to talk to you," his body is huddled and clenched. His hands are tightly wrapped around the phone.

"Chris-" this is the way she says his name now, with that tone. He didn't want to hear her rationalize to him. He'd heard it enough.

"No, Lorelai. I need to talk to you. Let me talk to you." He doesn't pause to let her agree, but barrels on. "I'm dying here, Lorelai. I miss you and Rory so much. I know you want me to be here, to make something of myself, to 'realize my potential', but I can't stand one more day of it. I try to pay attention in class, make friends, be normal, but I can't care about any of it. I'm failing every class. I don't go out or have friends. I can't stop thinking about you."

Somewhere in the middle of his speech, Christopher realizes that there are tears running down his face.

"I need to be with you and Rory. I know you think I'm not ready, we're not ready, but we need to give it a shot Lor. I know you've thought about it a lot and I know you're scared, but how can being apart be the better solution? We're strong together and I love you and I love Rory. Doesn't love count for anything? It's just all wrong with you there and me here and I know it won't ever be right until we're together."

He stops. He has poured out his heart. This is it.

She says nothing. Another silence subsumes his life obscuring him into nothingness.

"Lor?" it is such a small sound. Like a child whistling in the dark. Plaintive. Alone.

"Oh Christopher, please don't do this to me," pain and tears haunt her voice, "We've talked about this. It's a bad idea. There's nothing about our situation that has changed to make it anything other than a bad idea."

"We could do it. We could be a family. You're selling us short." He's yelling he's so frustrated with her.

"Uh! You just don't get it," the tears have dried up and there is something iron in her voice now, "Do you know what I do?"

"You work at a hotel."

"I'm a maid. I wake up at six am every day to get ready for my day of cleaning rooms for the rich and swanky for a pittance, and the only reason Rory and I aren't out on the streets is because Mia is a saint." She is practically hissing these words. "How are you going to join me in this life, Chris? What will you do? Be the groundskeeper, the bell hop, the busboy? When have you ever even held a real job? Not one at your father's law firm, but a real one that you couldn't blow off to go to the beach with me because 'clocking in was for squares'."

"I-" he begins to defend himself but she doesn't relent.

"You might do it. I'm not saying that you're lying to me or that you don't have the best intentions in the world, but how long before you would start resenting it? How long before you would start resenting me for being the reason that you had to live this way? Paycheck-to-paycheck. Fearing every sick day. The only relief in your life being the beer you grab at the bar before heading home to the the wife and the kid. How long before you start heading home later and later until you don't come home at all?"

"Or maybe we could go with the Gilmore's plan? I could join Emily's DAR, you would work at Strobe's firm, Rory would get a nanny, and we'd have everything. Everything we ever hated while we were growing up."

"You don't need to tell me that it sucks. You don't need to tell me that you're dying. I know! But this is the way it is. Welcome to our life, Christopher!"

She sounds so final. He can actually hear the door she is slamming in his face. His shoulders slump and he doesn't say anything for a long time.

"Alright..." he can't say the words. He can't admit that she has a point. He wants to make the sacrifice, but if he should fail...?

"Look, if you want to call tomorrow, when Rory's awake, that'd be cool." She is trying to make it better, let him know that he's still Rory's father, but the sting of her words are still aching in his heart.

He nods, but realizes she can't see him over the phone. He tells her he'll call, but he suspects that he might be lying.

***

The brunette lying next to him in his bed is asleep. Now that he's a little more sober, he recognizes that she is a cheap facsimile.

He wonders if waking her up and asking her to leave would be too crass. He considers it then decides it would so he lets her continue to sleep off the sex and booze. A gentleman, his mother raised him to be.

This was how it was going to be from now on. This was college life. He'd study a little or enough to keep him good with his parents, party a lot, make friends with rich kids from posh backgrounds like himself, and generally build his future life as a promising young man. It'd be just like Chilton, only without Lorelai.

Christopher suddenly feels suffocated and like he might puke. He needs some air.

He gets up from his bed careful not to wake his guest, pulls on his boxers and clothes then leaves the room. Before he walks out, he considers taking the picture on his nightstand, but leaves it.

He walks out to the student parking lot and gets into the BMW his parents bought to replace the Porsche. As he starts the car, he tells himself he's just going for a drive to clear his head, but can't lie to himself that well and knows he's never coming back. This is it.

Welcome to his life.

***

THE END


End file.
